


Until you Don't

by inkiestdawn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, lil bit o angst, love and all that stuff beyond it, valentine's day something something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 10:19:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13679730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkiestdawn/pseuds/inkiestdawn





	Until you Don't

Until you don’t 

A Valentine’s Day mini fic written with love

Dean x reader

Of all the things you did right, Dean had a handful that were his very favourites. They were small things others didn’t notice because they didn’t know you the way he did, subtle movements like the way you drummed your fingers softly against your collar bone while working out a problem. He knew there was a rhythm to it, it wasn’t random tapping, because he knew you had a soundtrack for just about everything, including deep thinking.

He held very close the fact that many of the things he cherished were things no one else saw, like the way you would pucker your lips unnecessarily while doing a pathetic air guitar impression. The first time he caught you doing it, he laughed so hard that his eyes welled with tears and his sides hurt. 

He mentioned it to you one day, after a particularly difficult day, a day in which it was easy to forget that people had fun quirks and silly habits that endeared others. 

“I love the way you do that,” he said, squinting against the sweat dripping in his eyes.

“What?” You were distracted by the blood on your boots and pants, trying very hard not to slip as you moved over to him to check on a bad gash across his abdomen.

“That,” he said, pointing to you and then to his own mouth. He quirked the right corner of his mouth down and his jaw moved. You clacked your teeth together when you were irritated, something he knew well and was demonstrating.

“Oh,” you said, kneeling down in front of him and lifting the edge of his shirt to inspect the wound. Dean reached up, hooked his index finger under your chin and rubbed a thumb over the corner of your mouth.

He flinched when you prodded the wound to gauge the depth of it.

“Yeah,” he said, “I love it.”

And prompted by fear and the aching hollowness left by the adrenaline crash and the weight of the many difficult things you had to do, you said, “until you don’t.”  
**

The day did come when Dean not only saw but heard you clacking your teeth that he felt the rise of irritation, a pressure in his neck and behind his ears that made him want to yell at you to stop. You did but not because he said the words out loud. The look he gave you was enough. You gathered the stack of books Sam had suggested and went into another room. You stayed there for hours, the ache of wanting Dean to join you and say that everything was okay building into sadness and then anger. 

Beside each other in bed that night, the space between you was minimal but the distance seemed insurmountable.

Dean knew it was time, time for things to do what they naturally and inevitably will- change. He was on his third solo hunt in a row, this one the longest yet. His drive back was fraught with anger and regret. He checked his phone again and again for alerts, for any excuse to postpone his return. He wasn’t ready but also felt like this was long overdue.  
The tension in his chest and neck and shoulders, an ache that radiated from deep beneath his rib cage, built as he parked the Impala, ramped up an at alarming rate with each footstep closer to the bunker’s entrance, as he opened the door, and walked down the steps, reaching an impossibly acute crescendo the moment he saw you sitting at the table. He couldn’t take a breath deep enough to satisfy his starving lungs and he tried to abate the need with shallow inhalations that seemed to catch in his throat.

You didn’t look up when he came in, folded over the deep hollow feeling that is familiar to those who face the unknown with their hands and minds and hearts tied to an unattainable past. It is difficult to move forward when leaving so much of yourself behind- cherished bits and pieces and memories- and even harder to step forward feeling incomplete. How can you fight unknown foes without those pieces, face the challenges to come when your own heart is strange and unfamiliar?

Dean hesitates to close the distance knowing that the closer he is to you physically, the harder it will be. From a distance, his fear has the quality of a mirage, something that might not be. He doesn’t want to get too close and see it for what it really is because the sharp, hard edges are undeniable up close.

But he has faced fears and monsters and death and his courage takes him forward. He pulls out a chair and sits next to you. He folds his hands together and squeezes them between his knees to stop the shaking but our bodies are much simpler than our minds and the energy the shaking would have released now settles in the pit of his stomach, churning up the emotions that he tried to bury there.

“I’ve been here before,” he says, “and every time I get here, to the place you talked about…”

You look up finally and meet his eyes.

“The ‘until I don’t’ place.”

You manage to bite back a groan, the voice of hollowness, but holding it back doesn’t make it any less real.  
Dean reaches out and takes your hands. You feel the tremble, the unreleased tension. His fingers are unusually cold, a side effect of the war fought by his body, mind and emotions.

“What I think,” he swallows hard and then nods, sure of what he has to say, and do, “is that there is a place beyond it that I would like to see.”

He adds, “with you.”

After a moment, as you try to switch gears while barreling uncontrollably towards the wall that means the destruction of your relationship, your love, your family, he continues.

“We do get to a point where it’s not sweet and exciting and new. I feel tired and frustrated, angry, and annoyed more often than,” he hesitates briefly, “than I’d like to admit but that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?”  
You let out a long breath and, with it, worry and fear. Relief swells like a tide up your throat, brimming out and over in tears.

“I think so,” you say but cannot be sure that you speak the words out loud.

“So, let’s see what’s on the other side. We might not get back to the place we were before but I have a feeling that that’s okay and we’ll be better for it.”

And you do. There are moments of harsh words coloured by anger and deep feelings that have more to do with fear than any imagined slight, and long heavy periods of feeling separate but in between and beneath you have each other and a knowing that despite the end of eras and dynasties, with inevitable change comes growth and that’s what love really is all about.


End file.
